


First Principles

by mamasita13, TheBlueMenace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 02:46:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9414578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamasita13/pseuds/mamasita13, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlueMenace/pseuds/TheBlueMenace
Summary: In which Stiles kills Gerard.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheBlueMenace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlueMenace/gifts).



> This was going to be a Stiles is a ‘True Alpha’ story but I read another story that covers that idea.
> 
>  
> 
> This is a one shot. I first thought Gerard should have died much earlier. Then the TV series decided Gerard needed to tell a story. Fine! I decided Stiles would take that opportunity to deal with Gerard. This is after the Nogitsune. An Oni who possessed Stiles and left Stiles with its mark.
> 
>  
> 
> How can you be possessed by a million-year-old Oni and not leave a mark? I don’t think you can and Stiles isn’t an exception. Stiles has its mark not only on his skin but in his mind. Stiles also believes he killed lots of people including Allison and that starts him down a very dark path.
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you enjoy. This is dedicated to TheBlueMenace who helped me with this story by providing me with great feedback. TheBlueMenace also co-wrote part of this story so thanks again! :)
> 
>  
> 
> The titles I use are quotes from Silence of the Lambs.

Prologue

 

_The day was mild and his suit was uncomfortable. The shirt, he remembered, was itchy and the tie was so tight it was almost choking him. He fidgeted in place as he stared down into his mother’s grave._

 

_Stiles Stilinski was waiting, but he was not sure for what. Guilt pooled low in his stomach. It made him queasy. He felt the relieved tears rolling down his face, collecting on his chin and wetting his choking tie. Stiles was sure he was going to hurl. Stiles is alone in this: his grief, his relief, his guilt. Just as he was alone in the cause of his mother’s death. Childhood was over for him. He’d finally realized that he’s mortal. He’d die one day._

 

_Worse yet, his dad would die one day._

 

_His dad, the only family he has left, the deputy. Even the man’s job meant that his dad might die faster. All because of the badge the man wore on his chest. Stiles couldn’t control that and the illusion of control was forever lost. Stiles felt as if he was drifting loose in a cruel mad world that would easily crush him. That is what he’d have to deal with for the rest of his life. Stiles had also just realized how permanent his actions were and it sucked._

 

_It sucked to suck._

 

_It didn’t just suck, OK? It blew big sweaty lumberjack balls. It made Stiles angry. Then he felt guilty about being angry along with feeling guilty about murdering his mother. Stiles felt helpless and he really hated that feeling. Somewhere to his left, the priest had droned on, absolving his mother of her earthly sins._

 

_He kicked dirt into the grave in an act of defiance and watched as the dirt fell then listened as it hit the coffin lid with a dull thud._

 

_Yeah, Stiles was an asshole and he’d just buried the mother that tormented him for years. The straw that broke the camel’s back wasn’t even anything the woman was doing to Stiles, it was what she’d started doing to his dad._

 

_And Stiles would be damned if his mom would repeat her actions._

 

_As much as his dad loved his mom, even John couldn't ignore the effects of the woman’s disease any longer. As she stood with a bloody steak knife in hand, John had clutched at the stab wound on his shoulder, staring owlishly at the women he had always loved. John was finally made the brunt of the woman’s disease and Stiles couldn’t stand the betrayal on his dad’s face._

 

_It had been Stiles to call the ambulance as his mother continued to rant at his dad. Then he had run away like Stiles always did._

 

_Stiles only had to see it once to take action and action he took. Now he was alone; he couldn’t even take comfort in his dad. Because his dad was a mess. A grieving mess that Stiles would have to take care of now because the man was devastated. Stiles did that too._

 

_That he could live with as well as the death of his mother at Stiles’ own hand._

 

**What is his Nature?**

 

The light blue scrubs were more comfortable then Stiles’ thought they would be. Sadly, the thin fabric meant he could also feel the collapsing springs in Roscoe’s driver’s seat dig into his butt.

 

Uncomfortable thoughts linked to his mother were probably why his spastic brain decided to remind him of _that_ day. He wondered while looking for street signs, what his face looked like right then. Normally he hid what he liked to call his ‘homicide face’ from the public. It was cold and calculating, the message clear on his face that if crossed then peril would be met. Stiles had worked long and hard to have an arsenal of masks at his beck and call. His favorite was the one he showed to the everyday public. He was the funny sidekick, the spastic, all flailing limbs, uncoordinated boy with the big mouth. Even his dad fell for it, when John, out of everyone, should have known better.

 

The Nogitsune had done Stiles a lot of damage. It left him scarred outside and in. Astonishingly though it had also done him a lot of good. Stiles no longer needed his Adderall. Stiles could focus and stay still for long periods of time. He could concentrate on school, ace tests without studying. He even had an affinity to languages which served him well when dealing with the supernatural part of Beacon Hills. Ancient books in different languages were no issue for him. Stiles could even read and write code.

 

This was what led Stiles to his destination. Gerard Argent would meet his death at Stiles’ hand. Stiles could not let the man live even if the old man had helped them with the Dread Doctors.

 

Stiles snapped out of his thoughts as the hospice home where Gerard Argent resided loomed on the horizon. Roscoe was too loud for a regular radio. In its place, Stiles had an appropriated Beacon Hills Sheriff’s department CB radio installed. Stiles was listening to the calls coming over the airwaves. It was a comforting sound and despite the loudness of the jeep, Stiles had long ago learned to tune into the important codes. If his dad was in trouble Stiles would know and abort the plan.

 

It was a quiet night but Stiles was always worried. Stiles knew he’d had no control but he’d learned to deal with the helplessness. It was the little things that mattered. The things Stiles _could_ control. He did what he could and when. That’s why he tried to learn and research everything. Even Stiles contingency plans had contingency plans.

 

Just as Stiles expected, he walked into the home uncontested, with a clipboard to complete the disguise. No one stopped him and he was ignored as he made his way to Gerard’s wing with purpose. As Stiles walked into Gerard's room, he felt good about what he’d planned. Gerard had to be eliminated. Scott couldn’t and wouldn’t do it. Scott’s just too good. That’s why Scott had Stiles to do these things for him behind the scenes.

 

The room was decorated plainly with paisley colors. A hospital bed was in the middle of the room with an old tube TV mounted on the wall. There are no personal effects in the room. No flowers, no get well cards, no cards at all or letters. The TV is showing an episode of “NCIS: NOLA”. The show is too predictable for Stiles’ taste so he doesn’t know the episode. Gerard is napping in a wheelchair, the remnants of his dinner lay sadly on the table at his side. He was no longer drooling black goop. It used to come out of his ears and it smelled bad.

 

Stiles had visited the man just to ensure to himself that the old hunter was still suffering.

 

The man no longer suffers thanks to Christopher Argent and his yellow flower. A species of wolfsbane that saved Gerard. Gerard was able to help the Pack but it did nothing to endear the man to his family. Chris Argent had abandoned his father in the home and left him there. Gerard’s men wanted nothing to do with him because he’d sought the Bite. That had broken their loyalty to the old hunter.

 

Stiles didn’t know what to expect but he knew for sure that this was too much luxury for this evil man. Stiles didn’t bother to wake the old man as Stiles slipped on thick latex gloves. They are medical grade, of course, courtesy of the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital supply room. Thank you very much.

 

Gerard had taken on a wheezing watery way of breathing and he sounded to be having trouble doing it. He suddenly seemed to be in pain too. When Gerard came to abruptly he started coughing. The old man’s hands came to his mouth. When he saw Stiles the old man jumped in his seat. He looked startled and would have probably knocked out Siles with his other hand if he could. But Stiles watched as Gerard twitched as if to adjust himself and found he couldn’t even budge. The last thing Gerard had been able to do was to lift his hand to cover his mouth, which now flopped back to his side useless.

 

These were the effects of Kanima venom. Stiles wondered if Gerard recognized the effect, from watching others fall while he controlled Jackson. Maybe hunters had some sick training regimen of subjecting each other to its paralysis, as Gerard didn’t appear anywhere near as panicked as Stiles had hoped.

 

Fucker.

 

“Well, who do we have here, then?” Gerard asked him. Stiles felt a little offended at first but didn’t react outwardly to the old man’s question. Stiles remembered that he wasn’t wearing his usual mask. A flicker of recognition came over Gerard’s features as Stiles let his usual mask fall over his features.

 

“Stiles,” Gerard said with a raised eyebrow.  “I can’t say that I’m surprised by your presence here. You have some balls, kid. Kanima venom is it?” Gerard's voice wheezed, confirming part of Stiles earlier thought about Hunter training tactics. “So what, come to put me out of my misery, huh? Or have you come to make me suffer for what I did? Can’t take a beating from an old man?” Gerard sneered at him before he was overcome with another painful coughing fit. The spittle catching in the light. It was disgusting old man breath and it smelled even worse somehow than anything else Stiles had ever smelled.

 

Stiles didn’t answer and didn’t react to the smell or how gross it looked. Stiles was taking his time to set out everything he needed.

 

“Practical of you, taking out the threat to your family. That’s what I should have done with the Hales. Should have finished what Kate started. But watching those filthy monsters suffer was too enjoyable.” Gerard said with a scowl, probably hoping to get a rise out of Stiles. The old man was talking to give himself more time.

 

Stiles just kept working. He could feel the grin on his face unwavering and actually happy. Gerard’s eyes widened in alarm as they darted across Stiles’ face and actions.

 

Stiles’ stopped listening to the old man, humming to himself. It was easy. Stiles turned up the volume on his internal radio. It was something he did on occasion when people had long boring monologues, which he had to suffer through much too often.

 

It was by far the best part of being as smart as Stiles. He could gather the old man’s words and filter them into a recording for later retrieval. But at the time? Stiles was listening to his internal stereo. He’d turned on the volume loudly. Stiles worked fast and gathered Gerard’s limp form further into the wheelchair so the old man wouldn’t fall out accidentally…on purpose.

 

Stiles had to smirk at that thought. Sue him, it was hilarious that he could accidentally make the old man fall out of the chair on purpose. That was for later, though. It would be a heck of a waste of time to have to gather the old man into the chair once more.

 

**Do we seek out things to covet?**

 

The old man was still talking. How much did an old man have to say on his death march? It must be the adrenaline. The more the old man spoke the more truthful he was. It must have been cathartic. Gerard was no doubt hoping to humanize himself. Like he could convince Stiles he wasn’t a bigger monster than any supernatural creatures the old man had hunted. Gerard just kept trying and the more he spoke the more he couldn’t seem to help himself but say the truth.

 

It was like the old man had Tourettes. It was annoying and pathetic. Stiles was really tired of it by the time the Nemeton had loomed in the distance. Gerard had told Stiles all about the packs he had killed and that he had Kate kill.

 

The old man wanted the bite. He’d found out he had cancer and instead of seeking modern medicine like any other normal person the old man had sought the bite. Each Alpha that refused had ensured their Pack's death.

 

Gerard was _proud_ of Kate, his biggest achievement since Chris was such a disappointment. His son who was the best in the Hunter field. Chris Argent whose integrity and belief in the code that so many others had loosely followed was a disappointment to Gerard Argent. A human monster psychopath so the old man had no room to judge but yet he was.

 

Fucker.

 

Chris Argent was the one man Stiles was sure was ten times the old man in front of him. That’s who Gerard thought of as a disappointment? Wow, what a dick. If not for the reason Stiles already had for killing the old man, then that reason alone would have been good enough for Stiles. The fact that the old man could even compare the two was even more aggravating. Gerard was sure if Kate hadn’t disappointed him by being killed at a wolf’s hands she would have been the perfect Matriarch.

 

But no, Gerard had continued to lament, the wolf had to put down his only daughter because she had not done the right thing after she killed most of the wolf’s pack. She had been weak and pathetic, soot and ash still clinging to her skin when she came to him after she’d almost accomplished a great feat. Gerard thought he should have put a bullet in her brain but sentiment had stayed his hand.

 

Stiles thought Gerard was really insane and nothing either of his kids did was ever good enough. He’d twisted Kate into a psychopath just like him and for what? The old man was a speciesist. He raised his daughter the same but when death called to him what did the man do? He sought out that which he coveted. Wow. That was something Stiles would never have guessed about the old man.

 

Stiles was just getting to the Nemeton when Gerard stopped speaking. It was like the old man knew it was time.

 

“They’re bee… beasts. You… Stiles… You have to listen to me!” Stiles continued to the Nemeton and accidentally on purpose threw Gerard onto the stump. Stiles folded the wheelchair and rolled it to the root cellar. He hid the chair behind a shelf of vials and scrolls. It would never be found. The root cellar was a mess and about to cave in on itself. The only thing holding it up was one lone load bearing beam.

 

Stiles pulled the candles from one of the cabinet’s shelf and put them into a plastic shopping bag. He took the pouch of wolfsbane and placed it carefully in the bag.

 

All the research Stiles had done on the Nemeton and the knowledge from the Oni had confirmed that the tree was a part of man’s history and part of every culture. Magic practitioners throughout history used it’s power selfishly but there was a way to use its power to protect the Nemeton. Stiles was about to perform a protection ritual and he knew the ritual would be successful.

 

Stiles returned to the Nemeton and looked at the old man. The old man’s ass was presented like a bitch in heat. It would have been hilarious if Stiles wasn’t so mad and if it wasn’t important for Stiles to remain stoic as he continued to prepare for the ritual.

 

He took out the Kanima venom once again because he didn’t want to hear the old man scream when Stiles started the ritual. The old man was still muttering on the Nemeton and struggling to move. His head was the only thing Stiles had not paralyzed. Gerard was still spewing hate and venom about his kids, the Hales and the supernatural creatures as Stiles approached the stump.

 

“They’ll as soon kill you where you stand!” Stiles had to shake his head at that statement because Gerard might as well be describing himself. Stiles went around the Nemeton lighting the candles as he went and laying the mountain ash in a precise pattern for which the ritual called. That didn’t matter, though, what mattered was that Stiles had essentially locked himself within the Nemeton and the sacrifice Stiles was about to perform would direct itself back to the stump.

 

It was almost intimate how Stiles rubbed the venom over Gerard's lips. Splitting the old man’s lips with a small surgical blade. Gerard lashed his head back and hit it pretty hard on the stump trying to get away from Stiles. Since the old man was paralyzed from the waist down that was the only part of his body that he could move.

 

Gerard moaned as Stiles finally got his fingers on the old man’s lips. He laid Gerard on his side and began stripping the old man of his clothes. Stiles would burn them with the old man but it was important that Gerard was naked for the sacrifice. It turned out that whoever wrote the ritual was a freaky motherfucker.

 

Stiles went to stand outside the wolfsbane pattern and had begun to carve Celtic runes of concealment into the first tree on the north side of the stump. He followed that Celtic Rune with one of protection. He completed the runes around the clearing and went back to the stump.

 

Stiles jumped up on the stump and made Gerard slump into a seated position.

 

“Gerard Argent,” Stiles began, “You have been found guilty of crimes against humanity which include creating a psychopath in the form of your daughter. Leading a genocidal slaughter of Packs because they refused to give you the Bite. The worst of your crimes is you covet. That is your nature.” Stiles smirked at the fear on the old man’s face.

 

“This is a direct quote: ‘How do we begin to covet? Do we seek out things to covet? No. We begin by coveting what we see every day.” Stiles said and saw the truth in his words reflected back to him from Gerard’s eyes.

 

“I really should let Peter Hale be here and let him tear you limb from limb until there is nothing left of you. I won’t do that to him because he deserves peace. The peace that comes from knowing you died a violent all suffering death.” Stiles said as he moved off the stump and set up a recording device. The flood light he activated made it possible to film Gerard's death. 

 

Stiles set up a tripod and put his cell phone on the claws attached to the tripod. Stiles set his face to an unrecognizable mask. Stiles knew he would not be on film but he wanted to be sure if the camera caught him that no one would recognize him. Stiles would then share the film with Peter Hale. 

 

The old man’s skin was shining in sweat. Stiles stepped forward and slit Gerard's wrists. The blood started flowing chaotically down to the Nemeton. Stiles could feel the Nemeton almost sigh in relief and contentment. The wind picked up and carried the smell of Gerard's shit and piss away with it.

 

“Gross!” Stiles said wrinkling his nose and stepping away from the old man. Stiles activated the record on his phone and stepped behind it. Stiles should have realized the man was going to shit and piss himself without having any control over his body.

 

The Nemeton accepted his sacrifice.

 

Stiles expected the blood and gore, the stink of burning flesh and hair, the melting eyeballs, he expected the muffled noises Gerard made as the old man writhed in pain.

 

Stiles didn’t expect to feel emptiness. He didn’t feel joy or horror; he was just numb to the whole thing.

 

That concerned Stiles until he realized that what he was doing wasn’t personal and he didn’t take any pleasure in it. 

 

Stiles had an epiphany. The Oni was the one that had enjoyed the chaos and other’s deaths. Stiles didn’t and Stiles was relieved.

 

Gerard was simply a threat to what Stiles considered his and could not abide by it… the old man could not live out his life after what he’d done.

 

Stiles hadn’t needed to get rid of the evidence. The Nemeton had absorbed the old man’s ashes.

 

Stiles was sure the old man’s absence would not even be noticed at least for a few months anyway. Neither Chris or Allison would be looking for the old man.

 

Chris had taken her body from Scott and just left. Isaac had followed him. Stiles knew when Chris didn’t have a funeral for his only daughter that there was only one reason for it. Allison was alive. Stiles researched and followed Chris’s trail to a Pack in Oregon.

 

The Pack didn’t need to tell Stiles their Alpha had bitten Allison. Stiles could see it in the man’s body language and in the evidence left behind by Chris, Isaac, and Allison. Chris had then packed all of them off to France.

 

Stiles shook himself from his thoughts again and removed the mountain ash from around the Nemeton.

 

The Nemeton had grown at least a foot and then Stiles started feeling prickly all over his body. It was like the odd feeling of a leg falling asleep except it was his whole body being numb and was slowly waking. Pins and needles prickled Stiles from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. Stiles had pushed back the feeling. The incantation of the spell taking its final hold on the Nemeton as Stiles pushed the energy back into the Nemeton.

 

Stiles didn’t want the power; he just wanted the Nemeton safe and healthy. Stiles left the runes on the trees to obscure the Nemeton from being found by anyone but Stiles.

 

Stiles felt good for the first time in a long time. He didn’t fool himself that he’d ever be the same again but Gerard Argent’s death as a good start. The epiphany Stiles had that Stiles did not enjoy killing was an even better revelation.

 

Stiles was going to be just fine. Eventually.


End file.
